


don’t let me go (a cup of hot chocolat)

by pinkariess (lovelcce)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Chocolat (2000) Fusion, Alternate Universe - France, Chocolate, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:14:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29339631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelcce/pseuds/pinkariess
Summary: Until, one winter day...One winter day...A sly wind blew in from the north.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	don’t let me go (a cup of hot chocolat)

Once upon a time, there was a small quiet village in the french countryside whose people believed in tranquility. If you lived in this village, you understood what was expected of you. You knew your place in the scheme of things. And if you happened to forget, someone would help remind you. 

"The season of Lent is upon us. This is, of course, a time of abstinence. Hopefully, also a time of reflection. Above all, let this for us be a time of sincere pentinence." The Pere, a small man with brown hair, said from the pulpit. "It is a time to stand up and be counted."

In this village, if you saw something you weren't supposed to see, you learned to look the other way.

"This is a time for Christ." The Pere continued with his sermon. "When you reflect, he knows what you reflect on."

If by chance, your hopes had been disappointed, you learned never to ask for more. 

"He knows for what you must be forgiven. So in this year of Our Lord, 1959, things..."

So, through good times and bad, famine and feast, the villagers held fast to their traditions. 

Until, one winter day...

One winter day...

A sly wind blew in from the north.

Two figures stumble down the cobbled street in the wind, one tall and the other much smaller, but both cloaked in red. The tall one is carrying a large suitcase in one hand, and the smaller figure's hand with their other. It was a Sunday, and the rest of the town was in church. But the two figures made their way through the town, finding themselves at a small door in the side of a building.

The tall figure knocked.

And knocked again.

When there was still not answer, the two figures looked at each other before walking into the unlocked house. An old woman was sitting there, and she startled awake as the two figures came into the room.

"Who the hell are you?" The woman asked, frantically grabbing her glasses.

"Oh, uh..." The tall figure put down their suitcase, and pushed back their hood. Underneath there was a young man with brown hair and dark blue eyes. "We're here about the patisserie. We'd like to rent it and the apartment above."

The young man motioned to the smaller figure, revealing a small teen with short dusty brown hair.

"Where are you from?" The older woman asked, sitting a little more upright.

"Well, we lived in Andalucia for a while." The young man said, his eyebrows knitting together as he thought back. "Let me see. Before that, Vienna. And before that..."

The young man looked at his small companion, and tilted his head a little in a plead for help.

"Athens." The small one said as the young man said, "Pavia."

"Rover hated it there."

"Rover is their dog."

"But he can't walk very well."

"Bad leg. War injury, huh?" The young man smiled, ruffling the small one's hair.

"I'll expect you to keep it in good condition." The old woman said, raising an eyebrow at the two figures wrapped in red. She motioned for the two to leave, rising from her chair and slamming the door behind them. 

"What a nice town this is." The young man hummed as they walked towards the old patisserie. "Don't you think so, Pidge?"

"It's lovely." The small one, Pidge, nodded and looked down at the small dog in their arms. "Rover wants to know how long we can stay?"

"Oh, tell Rover not to worry." The young man smiled, opening the door of the patisserie and ushering Pidge inside. "We're here until we're gone."

The next morning, the young man and Pidge were cleaning the store. Though to an outsider it looked more like the young man was cleaning while Pidge played with Rover, who had just ran into a man's legs.

"Forgive the intrusion." The man said, raising an eyebrow at the dog, who ran back to Pidge. He was tall with red hair and a mustache.

"It's a pleasure." The young man said, abandoning his broom and going towards the newcomer.

"Sorry, Monsieur." Pidge said, grabbing onto Rover.

"Of course." The red haired man nodded. "What is your name?"

"Pidge. What's yours?" 

"I am the Comte de Smythe at your service." The red haired man said.

"A real one?" Pidge said, raising an eyebrow. "Like the Comte de Monte Cristo?"

"Ah-ah!" The Comte de Smythe said, shaking a finger. "He was not a real one."

"To what do we owe the honor of your visit?" The young man said, cutting off Pidge who had opened their mouth to respond.

"Well, as mayor of Lansquenet, I want to welcome you to the community and to invite you to worship with us on Sunday." Smythe said, motioning out the patisserie window at the church in the middle of the town square.

"That's very kind of you, but actually we don't attend." The young man smiled. It was a large toothy grin, as he picked the broom back up to lean it against a wall. "We're so glad to be near the church, though. We'll enjoy singing with the bells."

"The bells are not intended as an entertainment, Monsieur." Smythe frowned. "They are a solemn call to worship for-"

"Lance." The young man said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Lance. Monsieur is too formal, but feel free to call me Lance." The young man smiled, leaning against the counter himself. "I hope you'll stop by when we open for business next week."

"Yes. Yes, opening a patisserie during the holy Lenten fast." Smythe said, his frown somehow growing. "I could imagine better timing."

"Oh, but it's not going to be a patisserie." The young man, Lance, said.

"Then what do you intend to?"

"It's a surprise." Lance said, escorting the mayor to the door. "It was sweet of you to drop by."

The Comte de Smythe was a student of history, and therefore a patient man. He trusted the wisdom of generations past. Like his ancestors, he watched over the little village and led by his own example: hard work, modesty, self-discipline.

"I have completed the 18th Century." Smythe said, dropping his stack of notes onto his desk as a young woman with long white hair came into his office with her own little pile of papers. "Allura."

"Your letter to the editor, Dad." Allura smiled, passing Smythe her papers. "It's beautiful."

"Thank you, my dear." Smythe said, kissing the top of her head. "You know how I value your opinion."

There was a sudden disturbance from the street as the two looked out the window. In the square below, Lance was smiling and waving to a passerby.

"May I ask, Allura... have you been in contact with Madame Haggar recently?" Smythe asked. 

"Why?"

"She seems to have rented out the patisserie."

"Oh. I haven't talked to the Madame Haggar recently."

"I'm sorry, Allura, I didn't know."

"Oh, don't be silly, Dad. I have no secrets from you." Allura smiled. "How are you holding up?"

"Me? Oh, I'm fine, thank you." Smythe said, turning away from the window.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in 2019, and it will most likely never be completed. But if anyone wants to run with this, please do❤️❤️


End file.
